


The Light That Guides You

by ExyEimi (Siyah_Kedi)



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Drama, M/M, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/ExyEimi
Summary: The nickname suggests some familiarity.  Nathaniel searches his faulty memory, but the only things coming up are black clothes, hidden knives, a manic grin, and an empty rooftop.The man gets out of his car slowly, eyeing Nathaniel like he’s looking for weaknesses.  Because Nathaniel is disoriented and in pain, he’s nothing but weaknesses at the moment.  “Who the fuck are you?”Blondie’s face shutters so quickly it’s like he pulled on a mask.  “Not funny, Neil,” he says blankly.Who the fuck is Neil?





	1. On Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> You know those memes like "YOU SHOULD BE WRITING" ?
> 
> Well, I should be writing. I have a novel that needs revision, and a novel that needs writing. 
> 
> Instead I fell back down this rabbit hole, and instead of continuing any of my current WIPs, I'm embarking on this thing, too. Hopefully it'll just stay down as a one-shot, but I'm notoriously bad at one-shots. We'll see. Wish me luck on my noveling adventures!

**_Been a long time coming, feelings for you_ **  
**_My hearts been skipping a beat, maybe two_ **  
**_Right now you're weak but you'll be strong_ **  
**_I know a place where you belong_ **  
  
**_I'll be there when you need me_ **  
**_I'll be there when you call_ **  
**_Yeah, I'll be there to catch you when you fall_ **  
**_Know that I'll never leave you_ **  
**_Out here on your own_ **  
**_I'll be the lights that guide you home_ **

_(Aviators ft. Feather - Lights)_

* * *

He’s outside Eden’s, watching for Andrew to come back from parking the car.  The others have gone inside already, so he steps around the corner to light up a cigarette while he waits for Andrew’s return.  There’s no one in the alley when he gets there, and he automatically notices that there’s only one way out.  By the time he turns, there’s a group of guys wearing USC-Columbia hoodies.

 

“Fucking fag,” one of them spits, and while he's distracted, Neil is struck from behind with what feels like a glass bottle.  It shatters against his skull, spraying cheap beer over his clothes, and glass tinkles as it falls from his hair.  It’s a weak blow, but stunning and disorienting.  He spins and ducks, dodging an incoming fist.  He doesn’t see the kick aimed at his ribs, and takes it hard as he staggers into the brick wall, scraping his palms against it.  Another kick to the back of his legs brings him down, and he drops in the alley but looks up into his father’s face when his knees strike glass shards and a flashback overtakes him so suddenly that he feels eight years old again, pieces of a broken wineglass digging into his shins as he waits for Nathan to expiate his wrath.  A fist to his jaw sends him sailing to the ground, and now he’s fourteen, watching Mary firing back at Lola and Romero while he tries to dig himself into the concrete to avoid being struck by a stray bullet.  A vicious kick to his ribs has him opening his eyes in the Nest, with Riko looming over him wearing a monstrous smile twisting at his lips. 

 

“Nathaniel,” someone says – Mary, Nathan, Riko, Romero, Lola, he can’t tell which one is speaking to him – “Get up you worthless piece of shit.” 

 

Nathaniel pushes himself up, and looks into an unfamiliar face wearing a dangerous expression.  He knows what that look portends.  He quickly takes in his surroundings – outdoors, a narrow alleyway, late at night – feints left, and darts right, dodging the cruel man looming over him.  He crashes into someone at the mouth of the alleyway and his ribs give a scream of torment, but before he can register more than flashes – _short, sturdy, male, blond_ – he’s away and his feet are pounding the pavement in a familiar rhythm.  Breathing is torture, but he’s run in worse condition – he vaguely remembers playing exy in worse condition than this, at the Nest – and he’s sure they’re not broken.  Bruised, maybe cracked at the worst.  There’s nothing he can do for himself yet, not without supplies.  He doesn’t have his duffel bag, and his clothes are flashier than he would have liked – who the hell dressed him? – but his wallet is there in his pocket, with a handful of twenties and some smaller bills.  It’s not enough to get him a hotel room, but it’ll pay for some tape to wrap up his ribs, and something to eat for the night until he can figure out where he is and how close to one of his mother’s caches.  Behind him, fading into the distance, he can hear someone shouting, but he doesn’t recognize the voice. 

 

“What the hell, Neil?”

 

Nathaniel finds a Walgreens a few streets down and buys the things he needs immediately.  It’s almost midnight, and the newspaper declares him to be in Columbia, South Carolina.  He can’t recall how he got there, and it’s puzzling.  There’s flashes of bright orange in his memory, a man with blue tribal flame tattoos winding up his arms, a group of hostile people staring him down, but nothing makes any immediate sense.  There’s no reason for him to be in South Carolina, and he wonders where the hell his mother went.  This feels unreasonably close to Maryland.  Then he remembers his father is in prison in Seattle – no, Nathan Wesninski is dead, as is Mary.  Grief punches him momentarily, and then fades.  He knew she was dead, he’s done his grieving.  The numbers in the corner of _The State_ paper brings him up short.  He’s missing several _years_ between what he thought was the date, and what the paper is telling him.  Watching warily for signs of his father’s people, Nathaniel exits the store and takes up a position on the corner of the building to wrap his ribs with the bandages, wincing in silence as every breath sends a sharp spike of pain through him. 

 

A black luxury sports car pulls up, and a near-familiar blond head leans out the window.  “Hey, junkie, you wanna tell me what’s up with the roadrunner act?”

 

Nathaniel searches his memory, but comes up blank except for that nagging familiarity. 

 

Expressive hazel eyes narrow in the light from the Walgreens entrance.  Nathaniel doesn’t know how he knows they’re hazel – they look black under shaggy blond hair.  More flashes of memory, almost like someone is picking through files and showing him brief glimpses of them.  His skull throbs in time with his pulse, and the explanation occurs to him.  He’s lost a lot of time somehow, and based on his current state, he’s pretty sure it’s a head injury that drove out his recollections.  He can’t think of a delicate way to explain this to the hostile stranger – the hostile stranger who followed him from wherever he’d come to, which immediately sends his instincts into overdrive – so he just remains silent.  _Why_ has this man followed him?  The nickname _Junkie_ suggests some familiarity.  Nathaniel searches his faulty memory, but the only things coming up are black clothes, hidden knives, a manic grin, and an empty rooftop. 

 

The man gets out of his car slowly, eyeing Nathaniel like he’s looking for weaknesses.  Because Nathaniel is disoriented and in pain, he’s nothing _but_ weaknesses at the moment.  “Who the fuck are you?”

 

Blondie’s face shutters so quickly it’s like he pulled on a mask.  “Not funny, Neil,” he says blankly. 

 

_Who the fuck is Neil?_


	2. Brittle Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel is learning about the people who surround him.

**_Big things that seem so little  
_ ** **_Heart strings that feel so brittle  
_ ** **_What's this sound banging in my head  
_ ** **_Hard times seem mild in passing  
_ ** **_I feel fine but it's not lasting  
_ ** **_I'm alive while I'm already dead_ ** ****

_(Aviators - Zero)_

 

* * *

 

Neil looks like he’s ten seconds from bolting, and Andrew hasn’t seen him like this since last May when they went to collect him from Millport.  His shoulders are hunched, there’s blood on his neck, and his eyes are wild.  He thinks back over the scene he witnessed – a group of muscle-heads surrounding a scrawny kid in the alleyway, reminding him so strongly of the time a similar group of thugs tried taking their aggression out on Nicky and he got himself into trouble for nearly killing them.  If he’d known they were ganging up on Neil, he would have killed them this time, just to hammer home the point to the world at large that his people were not to be fucked with. 

 

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize who the victim was until Neil bolted past him like the hounds of hell were on his heels, and Andrew had to waste time sprinting back to his car before Neil got too far away. 

 

Now this bizarre behavior, and the mistrustful expression on Neil’s face, and Andrew is at a complete loss for what to do.  He watches, taking in the way Neil scans his surroundings every few seconds, checking for renewed threats.  He’s wary, and hunched over slightly.  Andrew notices him taking shallow breaths, and dips his eyes down to the discarded packaging at Neil’s feet.  Bandages suggest Neil took a beating in the few minutes he was waiting alone outside the club. 

 

“Not funny, Neil,” Andrew tells him flatly.  “Get in the car.”

 

“Fuck you.”  

 

Same words, same pained breathlessness, same contentious tone.  It’s like being back in Millport all over again.   Andrew’s eyes narrow.  “Get in.  The fucking.  Car.”  The words come between gritted teeth, and its only because he’s watching so hard that he notices Neil’s near-imperceptible flinch. 

 

Neil has never been afraid of him.  He doesn’t like how it looks now.  Like a cautious deer, Neil inches closer to the Maserati, giving Andrew a wide berth.  Andrew steps closer to him, not giving him the space he needs to make a run for it.  Another flinch, almost as loud as a shout.  Something is clearly Wrong.  He takes in Neil’s body language, the vigilant scanning of his surroundings, and recalls something Bee said once.  It feels stupid. 

 

“Tell me your name,” he demands.  Neil freezes. 

 

“Nathaniel,” he says, clipped.  “Now you.”

 

“Andrew.”

 

Confusion on Neil’s – Nathaniel’s – face, and then a dawning understanding.  “Andrew Minyard, goalie.”

 

“Fucking figures,” Andrew mutters.  Neil _would_ lose his mind and still remember Andrew in connection with Exy.  Louder, he asks, “What the hell are you doing out here?”

 

Nathaniel is visibly puzzled.  Andrew thinks of how different he is from Neil, and then reminds himself that he _is_ different.  Bee brought it up after Neil returned from Baltimore, cut up and scarred so visibly he couldn’t hide it under his clothes.  “ _It’s not very clearly understood, but most mental health professionals think it’s triggered by childhood abuse,_ ” she said.  Dissociative Identity Disorder.  Formerly Multiple Personality Disorder.  Andrew read a few books – _The Three Faces of Eve, When Rabbit Howls,_ and a crime novel, _The Girls He Adored._   Whether it was the product of a splintered mind, or of actual other personalities taking root in the same body, no one was sure.  That it was a coping mechanism was universally agreed on.  Andrew had felt lucky that Neil didn’t display any characteristics of it, and grateful that he hadn’t splintered, himself.  Maybe he’d been old enough when the abuse started to get by on his own.  But here was clear evidence, large as life and twice as real, that Neil _had_ splintered – he just hadn’t shown it before now.  Something or someone – probably the jocks who’d attacked him – had set him off, shoving Neil into the back of his own mind and bringing out Nathaniel. 

 

“What do you remember about me?” he asks, when the silence from Nathaniel stretches.  Nathaniel looks like a startled rabbit.  No longer as wary, just confused. 

 

“Goalie,” he says again.  “Black clothes.  Drugs.”  It’s not the most flattering picture.  Nothing about his and Neil’s Nothing-That-Is-Something.   “Why?”

 

Andrew’s grin is a Death’s Head rictus.  “Because I want you to give Neil back to me.”

 

Nathaniel looks down at himself like he’s got Neil in his pocket and forgot about him.  “What the fuck,” he says. 

 

“Come on, get in the car,” Andrew says.  “I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re back to normal.”

 

Nathaniel takes a step backwards.  “I am normal,” he insists, confused and leery.  The startled-rabbit impression is back. 

 

“You’re not Neil,” Andrew informs him.  Nathaniel shakes his head in agreement.  “Therefore, you’re not leaving my sight until he’s back.” 

 

This is clearly more than Nathaniel can comprehend.  “I’ll get in the car if you explain what the hell you’re talking about,” he says, and then his phone rings from his pocket and he leaps like a gazelle.  He pulls the singing mobile from his jeans with two fingers, like it’s going to twist around and bite him.  “I have a phone?”  Because he’s talking to himself, Andrew just walks around the car and opens the passenger door for him without answering.  “Who’s Nicky?”

 

“My cousin,” Andrew tells him.  “Get in.” 

 

Nathaniel punches the red End Call on the screen and slides the phone back into his pocket, chewing on his lower lip.  Andrew catches the hitch and gasp as he bends, and recalls that he’s injured.  Moments later, Andrew’s own phone begins ringing from the center console.  He lets it go to voicemail, closes the door behind Nathaniel, and slides into the driver’s seat.  How in the fucking hell is he supposed to explain to someone that they’re not who they think they are?  He taps his fingers on the steering wheel and ponders it. 

 

* * *

 

 

Nathaniel is sitting in the very nice sports car driven by a manic college athlete, and contemplates every choice he’s ever made that brought him to this point in his life.  Unfortunately, he’s still missing about two years in his memory, and it’s being stubborn about coming back.  Watching Andrew out of the corner of his eyes, he waits for the goalkeeper to uphold his end of the bargain.  He’s not entirely sure how he knows Andrew will, but he’s got no doubts about it. 

 

“What’s the last thing you remember clearly?” Andrew asks suddenly.

 

“Seattle,” Nathaniel tells him, feeling compelled to answer honestly by the same weird feeling that insisted Andrew would explain if he got in the car. 

 

“That was year –”

 

“Years ago, yes,” Nathaniel says impatiently.  “I realized that when I saw the date on the paper.  That still doesn’t explain what you mean about Neil.”

 

“So the snarky bastard part hasn’t changed,” Andrew notes, but it doesn’t seem like he’s talking to Nathaniel, so Nathaniel ignores it.  “Fuck, you need to talk to Bee,” he mutters.  Nathaniel is beginning to regret his decision to let Andrew explain things to him.  “You’re Neil,” he says at last, fixing Nathaniel with that piercing hazel gaze.  Nathaniel’s heart kicks up into his throat.  “What do you know about DID?”  He pronounces it _dee-eye-dee._   Nothing is coming to mind, and Nathaniel shrugs before he remembers about his ribs.  His breath catches, but he manages to keep from making a noise.  “Multiple personalities?”  Andrew tries again, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel with what Nathaniel is tempted to call anxiety.  Anxiety doesn’t seem to fit what he can recall about Andrew, however. 

 

“You’re telling me I’m just a figment of this Neil’s imagination?”

 

“I don’t know what you are,” Andrew says, looking straight through him. 

 

 _Maybe Neil is the figment,_ Nathaniel rationalizes.  Andrew moves suddenly, and Nathaniel flinches before he can stop himself.  Twisting the key viciously, Andrew turns the car on and scowls at him. 

 

“I’d kill myself before I laid hands on you without your consent,” he growls.   Nathaniel’s eyes drop to the black armbands sheathing Andrew’s wrists, and manfully says nothing about him apparently having already tried.  It draws his attention to his own hands, however, and he studies the unfamiliar scars littering the backs of his palms.  Suddenly curious, he yanks his sleeves up and finds armbands similar to Andrew’s covering his forearms.  Peeling them back, he finds that the scars continue up his wrists and over his arms.  He can hear his father’s voice in his head, threatening to cut his tendons so that he can’t play Exy anymore, and panics briefly before shoving it down.  He can’t afford to panic, not with an unfamiliar man driving him to places unknown.  Andrew drives with suppressed rage, his jaw tight where he’s clenching his teeth.  Nathaniel is taller than Andrew, but Andrew is stockier, more muscled, and well-armed.  The only thing Nathaniel can do if Andrew decides to turn on him is run, and that’s difficult with his bruised ribs impeding his breathing, to say nothing of the fact that he’s in a moving vehicle.  Andrew jerks to a stop outside the same nightclub where Nathaniel woke up.  He’s on his phone, yelling at someone to get the hell outside, they’re leaving. 

 

 

A few moments later, Kevin Day is climbing into the backseat of Andrew’s car, and Nathaniel nearly crawls out of his own skin.  His number has been covered up with a chess piece, but it’s not new, and he wonders when Kevin got out of Riko’s shadow. 

 

 

“Neil, relax!”  A dark-skinned boy with laughing eyes is climbing in beside Kevin.  He leans forward and pats Nathaniel on the shoulder, only to shriek a moment later when Andrew whirls around with a knife in his hand. 

 

“Don’t touch him,” Andrew warns.  Nathaniel feels warm all over.  His mother’s warning about not getting close to people echoes in his mind, but she’s dead, his father is dead, and he obviously knows these people.  Or rather – Neil does.  He wonders what kind of life Neil has been living.  A man who could be Andrew’s double is sliding in beside the first two men, and Nathaniel peers at him owlishly.  He can’t get their names into his mind. 

 

“Nicky, hands to yourself.  Aaron, try to be less of an asshole than usual.  _Neil_ had some trouble, you should tell me if he needs to go see Abby.” 

 

Andrew’s words are casual, especially given the fact that he’s sliding a knife back into his armband, but Nathaniel is stupidly grateful to him for smoothing over the moment.  He’s given Nathaniel the names of his companions without giving anything away.  Curiously, he spends the rest of the drive back to – wherever they’re going – watching Andrew with less tension and more interest. 

 

This could be dangerous, he tells himself.  If Andrew is right, and he’s just a bodiless personality inside someone else’s life, then he can’t afford to get attached to anyone.  Unless Andrew’s wrong, and he’s the one with the body.  He needs to talk to this Bee Andrew mentioned, and wonders if it’s short for Abby.  Two birds with one stone, after all.  Mostly, he needs to talk to Andrew.  He thinks of rooftops and cigarette smoke, and heated kisses on cool nights. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is already getting out of control. They were supposed to go straight home, Nathaniel would tell Andrew to bite Neil (no, seriously) and then they'd wake up normal and have sex. Nathaniel is taking on a life of his own. Somebody stop me!


	3. In You All Along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel talks to Bee.

****_I'm not the one you need, but I'll be there to guide you_  
I'll show the world to you, and everything I've been through  
A broken mind, a battered song, a spark of magic won't keep you strong  
But maybe it's been in you all along

_(Aviators – Reach (All Along))_

 

* * *

 

Andrew is dangerous.  Nathaniel can tell just by looking at him.  He’s been through some shit in his life and come out strong and vicious, unlike Nathaniel who came out feeling like a scared rabbit.  He wonders what Neil did to earn Andrew’s regard; he’s wondering if Andrew’s affectionate _junkie_ earlier means there’s something he’s missing between the two of them.   Three of them?  How is this going to work? 

 

Then he reminds himself that there’s nothing that needs to work.  He’s not interested in Andrew.  He can’t afford to be interested.  It doesn’t help that Andrew is interesting.  He put a name to Nathaniel’s missing time just by hearing his name.  His head jerks up and he realizes he was falling asleep.  The quiet music throbbing through the speakers is too soft to be understood, but the beat is soothing and it’s been a long night already.  Then they’re pulling up in front of an unfamiliarly-familiar house, and Nathaniel catches sight of blue eyes and red hair in the mirror.  Irrationally, he panics, adrenaline spiking through him before he sees the scars and realizes it’s not who he thinks it is.  He pulls down the sun visor, and finds a lighted mirror.  Ice blue eyes stare back at him from under a mop of auburn, and he realizes that his face is as badly scarred as his hands.  He starts to shake as he traces them, pressing the pad of one finger into the circular scar on his left cheek.  The scent of burning flesh fills his nose for a moment, and then there’s a heavy hand on the back of his neck, squeezing just enough to be felt without being threatening. 

 

“Stop that,” Andrew says, and Nathaniel looks down his arm to meet his eyes.  Andrew blinks those piercing eyes and yanks his hand back as if he’s been burned.  Bizarrely, Nathaniel feels a heated blush creeping up his neck and into his face.  He misses the weight of Andrew’s hand on his skin.  The others are piling out of the back seat, and Nicky is opening Nathaniel’s door for him. 

 

“How are you such a magnet for trouble?” Nicky is asking, fondly exasperated.  Nathaniel shrugs, and carefully manoeuvers himself out of the car.  Behind Nicky, Aaron is looking at him with a singularly unimpressed expression.  It’s so vividly different-yet-similar to Andrew that he wonders if twins are just two personalities that got lucky enough to get their own bodies.  He wonders what Neil did to earn the scars on his face, and feels for the familiar tracery of scars on his abdomen.  There’s more than he’s expecting.  He follows them into the house, and Aaron motions for him to take his shirt off. 

 

“Pretty sure they’re just bruised,” he tells him.  Aaron scowls. 

 

“I need to touch you,” he says, oddly considerate.  Nathaniel gets the shirt half-off before pain lances through him.  Aaron assists with a detached expression, then carefully unwinds the bandages.  He pokes and prods at the blossoming bruise on Nathaniel’s ribs, instructing him to breathe in and out as deeply as he can. 

 

“Well, Dr. Minyard, what’s the prognosis?” Nicky asks cheerfully.   Kevin has disappeared further into the house, and Nathaniel can hear the banging pipes and running water of a shower in use. 

 

“Doctor?” he repeats, startled. 

 

“In training,” Andrew clarifies.  Nathaniel shoots him a grateful look, and Andrew scowls, looking away sharply. 

 

“Bruised,” Aaron confirms.  “How’s your head?”

 

Nathaniel had almost forgotten about that.  He doesn’t remember how it happened, until he catches sight of his bloody palms as he reaches up to touch the back of his head and remembers a breaking bottle.  It’s the first thing he can remember about waking up here in South Carolina.  He wonders if the blow shook something loose in his brain.  

 

“Jesus fuck, Neil, why didn’t you say something about your hands?” Aaron scowls, looking just like Andrew for once – despite the similarity of their features, there’s too much difference in their bearing and expressions for them to be truly identical. 

 

“I forgot,” he says, ignoring the fact that Aaron thinks he’s Neil.  He doesn’t want to get into it with them until he knows them better.  And Neil is close enough to Nathaniel that he _probably_ won’t get confused. 

 

“Idiot,” Aaron mutters, and checks his palms for glass shards.  It’s impersonal and oddly nice, feeling someone touching him so gently, with so few expectations.  Satisfied, Aaron moves to the back of his head, gently feeling through his hair for signs of the injury.  Nathaniel discovers how fantastic it feels to have someone’s hands in his hair and his eyes fall closed without his consent.  The gentle ache of Aaron’s finger prodding at the sore spot keeps him from falling asleep where he stands. 

 

Aaron pronounces it minor, but instructs Andrew to keep an eye on him for signs of a concussion.  Andrew accepts this in silence, and it’s not until Kevin is stumbling into the living room, wearing only a pair of loose cotton pants, to stretch out on the couch that he realizes he’s going to be staying here with them – somewhere.  Kevin has clearly taken the couch.  The idea of sleeping in Nicky’s room is distasteful, and Aaron hates him.  Nathaniel has just decided to sleep in the car when Andrew snags his sleeve and tugs him up the stairs.  Five doors greet him on the second floor.  One is open, revealing itself to be a bathroom.  Andrew tugs him into the room at the far end of the hallway.  It’s mostly bare, holding a double bed, a dresser, and a closet. 

 

“You’re sleeping in here,” Andrew tells him, and digs through the dresser.  He comes up with pajama pants and a t-shirt, then shows Nathaniel where the bathroom is, opening one of the other doors to reveal a linen closet.  “Get a shower and come straight back,” Andrew orders.  Nathaniel does as he’s told, more bemused than anything.  He washes quickly, dries off as thoroughly as he can with his ribs screaming at him, and dresses.  The clothes are slightly baggy, but they fit.  He takes himself back into the bedroom Andrew led him to earlier, and finds Andrew in bed already.  His back hits the door and he flushes to the roots of his hair. 

 

“Sorry,” he says.  “I’ll – maybe the car –”

 

“Idiot,” Andrew says, and holds up the blanket.  “Just stay on your side of the bed.  I’m not going to bite you.” 

 

He hasn’t slept beside anyone other than his mother in his life, but somehow – muscle memory, maybe – the weight of Andrew’s body isn’t unfamiliar.  He gingerly settles down and breathes as deeply as he can manage. 

 

* * *

 

 

Andrew isn’t sure what he’s expecting – hoping for, maybe? – but waking up beside a traumatized Nathaniel wasn’t in his plans.  He was hoping – no, _not_ hoping, _not_ expecting, _not_ wishing, and certainly _not_ wanting – that Neil would be back in the morning. 

 

Nathaniel jerks awake beside him, lets out a pained noise, and stifles it behind his fist.  Andrew is awake in seconds, taking in the sight of his bed partner to try and figure out who he is.  The time it takes Nathaniel to recognize him tells him it’s not Neil.  Neil would have smiled, asked if he could touch or kiss, and leaned over when Andrew inevitably said yes.  Nathaniel stares at him with too-wide eyes, cataloguing his injuries, and the fact that Andrew isn’t Mary, and then looks around quickly, checking for exits.  It’s almost a physical ache in Andrew’s chest when he recognizes the behavior.  It’s just been so long since he saw it from Neil that he’d almost forgotten about it. 

 

The good news is, perhaps Neil and Nathaniel are closer than he initially thought.  He’s been thinking of them as two completely independent people – like Matt and Kevin – but perhaps it’s more like Aaron and Andrew.  Alike on the outside, similar on the inside, and distinct enough to be separate.  The need to get him to see Bee is almost a physical sensation.  He can’t wait to hear what she’ll have to say about this. 

 

“Good morning,” Andrew tells him.  Nathaniel whips around at the sound of his voice, flinching at some internal pain.  Almost immediately, he relaxes, and some of the panic in his eyes recedes. 

 

“Good morning,” Nathaniel returns.  “Excuse me,” he says, and eases out of the bed.  The stiff way he’s moving is alarming until Andrew recalls that his ribs were bruised, he’d taken a blow to the head, and fallen on glass the night before.  It had cut their evening incredibly short, but he’s pretty sure the others are used to their nights out being ended early by Neil’s mishaps.   If he could get them to a point where Neil _stops_ having mishaps – if being completely subsumed by an alternate personality can be called a _mishap_ in this case – he’d be a lot happier.  Nathaniel looks around the room, orienting himself, and then exits quietly.  Feeling paranoid, Andrew gets up and pads after him, watching him disappear into the bathroom with something like relief.  A few minutes later, Nathaniel returns looking embarrassed. 

 

“I don’t have clothes,” he says, and Andrew goes over to the dresser again.  Neil had taken to leaving some of his things here, and Andrew had silently made room for him.  The fact that Nathaniel doesn’t know it is disconcerting. 

 

“Yes you do,” Andrew tells him, and retrieves Neil’s favorite shirt without thinking about it.  It’s from the school store, and says MINYARD 03 across the back.  Nathaniel doesn’t blink as he accepts it, and the rest of the clothes from Andrew.  He simply takes them back into the bathroom and changes.  When he comes back again, Andrew has propped open the window and is smoking.  Nathaniel wanders closer and inhales the smell of the smoke.  He declines when Andrew offers him one. 

 

“I just like the way it smells,” he says.  Andrew feels a peculiar tug at his lips, and when he lets it go, finds it to be a smile.  Maybe Neil and Nathaniel aren’t that far apart after all.

 

* * *

 

Once everyone else is up and moving – and Andrew has noted that no one else notices anything different about Nathaniel/Neil – they silently agree to go back to school.  Nicky is concerned, and vocal about it.

 

“You took a pretty hard hit,” he tells Nathaniel, who is looking at him with barely constrained bewilderment.  “You should definitely go see Abby when we get back.” 

 

“Sure,” Nathaniel says, shooting a helpless look in Andrew’s direction. 

 

“Nicky,” Andrew says.  “He’s got a headache.  Keep it down.” 

 

Nicky pipes down instantly, retreating into the backseat and toying with his phone.  Nathaniel’s expression of relief and gratitude is oddly warming, and oddly disconcerting when taken with Neil’s face.  He’s used to Neil being mostly expressionless when they’re in company.  Nathaniel seems a lot younger, a lot more innocent, and a lot more expressive.  He’s also a lot more active; he’s drumming his fingers on his thighs, looking around and taking in everything new around him, and tapping his feet to the beat of the music.  Andrew drives in silence, Kevin snoring in the back seat between Nicky and Aaron, and Aaron, for his part, has been on his phone all morning.  When they pull up at Fox Tower, Nathaniel freezes. 

 

“Relax,” Andrew tells him.  “This is home.” 

 

“Okay,” Nathaniel says stiffly.  He makes an effort to relax, but Andrew notices that he hangs back until the others start for the elevator.  On a whim, Andrew stops him. 

 

“We’re going,” he announces.  The others wave him off.  Nathaniel looks at him curiously.

 

“Where are we going?” he wants to know. 

 

“Bee’s.”

 

“Not Abby?”

 

“Abby later,” Andrew decides. 

 

“So they’re different,” Nathaniel murmurs.  Andrew is struck by how much he doesn’t know.  He texts Bee to let her know that they’re on their way, and that he wants her to treat Neil like she’s never met him before.  Neil is inherently mistrustful of Bee, and dislikes her.  Nathaniel is a wild-card. 

 

 **Bee (9:38am) :** Andrew, you’re going to have to give me more details than that.  What happened?

 **Me (9:38am) :** He took a hit to the head last night and it knocked some screws loose.  He’s calling himself Nathaniel.

 

There’s a long pause before Bee texts him back. 

 

 **Bee (9:41am) :** Is he okay?

 **Me (9:41am) :** Remember that time we talked about DID? 

 

There’s another long pause. 

 

 **Bee (9:45am) :** Oh dear.

 

It’s a bit of an understatement.  Andrew tells Nathaniel to get in the car, and they drive over to her office in silence.  Nathaniel takes a look at the signs and recoils. 

 

“A psychiatrist?”

 

“So that’s ingrained?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Neil doesn’t like her.  Try to be nice.”

 

Nathaniel, to his complete surprise, sticks his tongue out at Andrew.  “No promises,” he says, but he’s no longer looking like he’s about to face a dragon.  Andrew walks in with him and helps himself to Bee’s cocoa station. 

 

“Hot chocolate?” Bee asks him.  “You must be Nathaniel.”  Nathaniel isn’t paying her any attention, peering around her meticulously-arranged office like he’s still half-expecting a dragon.    

 

When he’s satisfied himself about the windows and door, Nathaniel edges closer to some of her figurines.  “OCD?” he asks, the first thing he’s said since walking through the doors. 

 

“Yes,” Bee replies, eyes crinkling when she smiles.  Nathaniel relaxes a little.  “Would you like some hot cocoa?  Andrew’s already helping himself, as you can see.” 

 

Neil doesn’t like sweet things.  He hates Bee.  Andrew takes a sip of his cocoa and watches Nathaniel.  “I don’t think I’ve ever had cocoa,” he says cautiously.  Without waiting for a prompt, Andrew turns and begins preparing another mug for him.  Bee watches them both in silence, but Andrew knows her well enough to know that her mind is working furiously behind her glasses and smiling eyes, taking in what she knows about Neil, and what Nathaniel is showing her.  It’s not just amnesia; Nathaniel is a completely different person who happens to look just like Neil because they share the same body. 

 

“Anything you tell me during this session won’t go any further than myself, Nathaniel,” Bee says pleasantly.  “Unless I feel you’re a danger to yourself or others.”

 

Nathaniel gives her a wry grin and settles onto the couch with his mug.  Without being prompted, Andrew is preparing a third one for Bee.  Nathaniel takes a cautious sip, and Andrew watches out of the corner of his eye as a delighted grin spreads across his face and he drinks again, more deeply.  “This is good,” he says.  “I’m not a danger to myself or others,” he reassures her.  “I’ve spent too much time trying to stay alive to deliberately hurt myself.” 

 

Bee smiles, and accepts the mug Andrew hands her.  Silently, Andrew retreats to the corner chair, out of Nathaniel’s direct line of sight, where he can still keep an eye on his new problem.  Bee eyes him and he shrugs to tell her that he’s not leaving Nathaniel alone.  Hopefully his presence won’t impede her questioning.  “Very good,” she tells Nathaniel.  “So, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

 

Nathaniel talks at length about his family, what it was like living with his father, and what prompted his mother to leave with him.  Neil has told him these things before, but somehow, hearing it from Nathaniel’s perspective is strange.  Nathaniel doesn’t know that his father worked for the Moriyamas.  He doesn’t know that Mary took off with him because Nathan was going to sell him to them if he performed well during his games with Kevin and Riko.  Andrew nearly shatters his mug when Nathaniel waxes poetic about Riko’s skill as a striker.  Bee shoots him a warning look.  Then suddenly, Nathaniel clams up and shudders. 

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“I just remembered being at the Nest,” Nathaniel says.  Andrew half-rises out of his chair, and forces himself back into the seat.  “I guess Riko turned into an asshole.”

 

“I get the impression he was always an asshole,” Bee tells him, and Nathaniel gapes at her casual use of profanity.  “Are you aware that he passed away recently?”

 

Nathaniel pales, which tells both Andrew and Bee that he didn’t know.  “Oh,” he says. 

 

“I have an uncomfortable question I need to ask you, Nathaniel,” Bee says, serious now.  Her eyes flick over to Andrew.  “If you don’t want to answer it, you don’t have to, but I want you to think about it.”   She waits for his assent before continuing.  “What do you know about dissociative identity disorder?”

 

“You mean multiple personalities,” Nathaniel says.  “Andrew told me about that.  You think I have this disorder, right Miss Bee?  That I’m really Neil?”

 

Bee relaxes into her chair.  “I think you’re really Nathaniel,” she tells him, and it’s Nathaniel’s turn to relax.  Andrew hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he was holding himself until now.  “But you happen to share your body with Neil, yes.  Tell me about how you came to be up front, since you’re missing a few years.”

 

Nathaniel shrugs carefully.  He drains his mug and sets it aside, his eyes unfocussing.  “It was just like waking up,” he says, voice distant.  “I remember going to sleep beside my mom, and then when I opened my eyes, I was being kicked outside a nightclub and two years were gone.”  His eyes start fluttering.  Andrew is on his feet before he consciously decides to stand.  Bee holds up a hand to stop him, watching Nathaniel carefully.  Andrew focuses on him.  He blinks hard, and rubs his hands up and down his thighs. 

 

“What the fuck,” he says. 

 

“Nathaniel, are you okay?”

 

“ _Dr. Dobson?_ ”  Nathaniel recoils in horror.  He looks around wildly, and breathes a heavy sigh of relief when he sees Andrew.  “Drew, what the fuck happened? Why am I here?”

 

In unison, Betsy and Andrew say one word:  “ _Neil?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAHAHA.


	4. The Silent Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know some of the alters.

**_Let's speak up for the silent voices  
_ ** **_Stop making so many blind choices  
_ ** **_Stand up for what you know is right  
_ ** **_Don't look away for just one minute  
_ ** **_Don't ignore the fire, because you're in it  
_ ** ****_Don't leave broken ones alone tonight_

_(Aviators – Voices of the Crowd)_

* * *

 

The fact that they’re surprised to see him tells Neil that something mighty strange is going on.   He looks between the two shocked faces of Andrew and _Betsy Dobson, what the fuck is he doing in her office?_ And realizes suddenly that there’s gaps in his memory.  If he’s willingly in Dr. Dobson’s place, and Andrew is there –

 

“What happened?”  he demands of Andrew.  “Are you okay?”  Vaulting over the couch, Neil places his hands inches from Andrew’s face, not touching without permission but silently asking for it.  Andrew’s eyes are wide, his jaw unstrung by some kind of shock.  It’s the most open expression Neil has seen in a long time. 

 

“No,” Andrew says, and then before Neil can tear his hands away, “I’m fine, nothing happened.”

 

“Then what’s going on?”  _Why am I here?  Why are you here?  What happened?_

 

 _‘It’s about time you realized something was going on,’_ says an unfamiliar voice.  Neil whips around, searching for the source, but the only other people in the room are Dobson and Andrew.  He swallows around panic and tastes chocolate. 

 

“Neil, why don’t you have a seat?” Dobson suggests, rising out of her chair.  Neil shoots her a dirty look; there’s no way in hell he’s going to talk to her right now.  Not until he knows why he’s hearing voices. 

 

_‘Oh, you can hear me now?  Huh.’_

 

The panic is a rising tide he can’t fight, so he gives into it and breaks into a run, fleeing Dobson’s office at a dead sprint. Behind him, Andrew and Dobson are calling his name, asking him to wait, but Neil needs to run.  He crashes through the door, startling the receptionist, and is outside before she can say anything. 

 

_What the hell is going on?  Who are you?_

 

 _‘I’m you,’_ says the voice.  _‘And you need to calm down before you hurt yourself.’_

 

The panic recedes.  So does the light.  Neil slips under water and falls. 

 

* * *

 

 

Part of him is oddly warmed by Neil’s immediate reaction of worrying about him – despite his insistence that he doesn’t need anyone to worry over him, Neil will wear his heart on his sleeve – but it’s doused in ice water a moment later when fear overtakes those blue eyes and Neil is running.  Andrew is certain he won’t go far, and exchanges a look with Bee. 

 

“I guess that answers that question,” Andrew drawls. 

 

“And what question is that?”

 

“Whether or not Neil can switch back and forth at will.”

 

“Was it at will, though?  It seems like Nathaniel was dealing with a lot of emotions at that time, and he may have switched as a coping mechanism.  I’d like to get him in to see a specialist.”  Her voice trails off as she finishes her thought silently. 

 

“What for?” Andrew prompts her.  “Neil hates shrinks.”

 

“Yes, _Neil_ does,” Bee says, fixing him with a steady gaze.  “But I want to know how many alters he has, and talk to him about his options.”

 

“Talk to me first,” Andrew suggests acidly.  “What are his options?”

 

Betsy settles herself back in her chair and sighs.  “Integration, if he wants.  That means getting all the alters fused into a single functioning personality.  Using therapy to help him work through his traumas, or getting everyone to talk to each other so as to help Neil stop losing time when he switches.  It’s all up to him – them.  But until we know more about how it’s manifesting in him, we won’t know how to proceed.”

 

Andrew processes this.  Neil will never talk to a specialist, which means catching Nathaniel and convincing him to do it.  He wonders what brought on the sudden switching again, and if it’s something Neil and Nathaniel are going to be doing more often now that whatever wall was holding Nathaniel back has broken down.  And Bee’s emphasis on Neil’s name a moment ago means that she’s having the same thought. 

 

“I’ll talk to him,” Andrew says, and leaves the office. 

 

“Keep me updated,” Bee says wryly, and Andrew tosses off a two-fingered salute before closing the door behind him.  He doesn’t bother running; Neil would have gone to the court or the roof, and the only major decision right now is choosing which one to check first.  He’s getting into the car when he sees Neil across the parking lot, and has a brief debate on whether or not to walk or drive over to him.  Thunder rumbling overhead makes the decision for him, and he pulls up alongside Neil a few moments later.  Neil pauses, looks over, and then stares. 

 

Andrew stares back.  It’s not Neil, and it’s not Nathaniel.  _Well, shit._

 

“Andrew,” Not-Neil says casually.  “Good to see you at last.”

 

“Who are you?” Andrew asks him, feeling tense.  This is weird and he doesn’t like it.  Strangers who know his name should not be wearing Neil’s face. 

 

“I don’t have a name,” Not-Neil says.  “I handle memory interfacing and retention for the system.” 

 

“What’s that mean in English, jackass?”   

 

“It means one of us needs to keep an eye on everything no matter who’s up front, and that’s my job.  It’s what I was created to do.”

 

Andrew considers this.  “Get in the car,” he suggests.  Not-Neil pauses, and then consents, climbing into the front seat.  “How many are there?”

 

“Neil, Nathaniel, Abram, myself, the Keeper, and Wes,” Not-Neil says promptly.  “For now.  Others have come and gone as needed.” 

 

Andrew’s head is spinning.  He doesn’t know nearly enough about this disorder.  “Great.  So why are you all coming out now?”

 

“We’re not,” Not-Neil says.  “The Keeper cannot be up front.  She came from Outside and isn’t part of the system.”

 

_What the actual fuck?_

 

Not-Neil continues: “As for the others, the Keeper is in charge of who sits up front.  She only let them switch when they were sleeping or alone, because it was too dangerous to allow Nathaniel to be confused and wandering.  When Nathaniel broke free of her control, it disrupted the balance the Keeper maintains.  Who sits up front is now a matter of chance, as you see, as I am not meant to be in front.”

 

Andrew parses this into something understandable, and decides that Nathaniel coming out last night was accidental.  Neil will never consent to therapy, and he has no way of knowing when or where Nathaniel will return. 

 

“We’ll need your help, most likely,” Not-Neil says suddenly.  “You have Neil and Nathaniel’s trust.  And mine.  We’ll be okay.”

 

Rapid blinking, and Neil’s face seems to change, his eyes widening and his mouth turning up at the corners.  He looks around at the surroundings, and sighs.  “I switched again, didn’t I?”

 

“…Who?”

 

“Nathaniel.”  Nathaniel swallows.  “How- how long has it been?”

 

Andrew can feel a headache coming on.  “Just about half an hour,” he tells Nathaniel. 

 

“It’s getting faster,” Nathaniel complains.  “At this rate, we’ll go crazy.” 

 

“Bee wants to keep talking to you,” Andrew tells him, ignoring the ‘go crazy’ comment for later.  “But Neil hates her.” 

 

Nathaniel turns too-wide eyes on him, looking twelve.  “But she’s so sweet!”    

 

“So you’ll talk to her?”

 

“Sure!” 

 

He’s humming to himself in the passenger seat.  Andrew clenches his fingers around the steering wheel.  “How old are you?”

 

“Sevente- er… Nineteen, same as Neil.”  There’s curiousity in his face, but Andrew is reaching his limit of weirdness. 

 

“Can you switch back and forth at will?”

 

“I – don’t know?”  Nathaniel’s expression now looks like a kicked puppy.  Andrew resolutely doesn’t feel bad about it. 

 

“Are you aware of your other alters?”

 

“There’s more than just Neil?”

 

Guess that answers that question.  _I’m not qualified for this kind of conversation._   “What’s your favorite color?”

 

Nathaniel grins.  “Green,” he says, and there’s something teasing and almost sly about his words, but Andrew can’t figure out why.  “What’s yours?”

 

“Black.” 

 

He drives them back to Bee’s office in silence.  “You stay in the waiting room,” Andrew tells him.  “I’ll be right back out.”  He wants to say, _Try not to switch,_ but Nathaniel doesn’t have any control over it, and he doesn’t want to make the other man feel bad.  Then he realizes what he’s thinking and scowls to himself.  “Try to stay yourself this time,” he says, and gets Nathaniel’s bright grin in return.  Before he turns away, he sees it fall off and be replaced by a look of serious concentration. 

 

Bee is on the phone when he walks back inside.  “Neil, Nathaniel, Abram, Wes, the Keeper, and Mir,” he says, not waiting for her to finish her conversation.  She hurries to reassure the other person she’ll call them back later, and stares up at Andrew in confusion. 

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

“Those are the names I got.”

 

Her face lights up in delight.  “You found him?”

 

“Neil ran out of here, I found a nameless one that handles memory interface and retention – so, Mir – and Nathaniel came back with me.”

 

“Oh, good.  Send him in.” 

 

Andrew fetches obediently, and settles back into his corner chair while Nathaniel apologizes for leaving before the conversation was over.  Bee handles it gracefully, and asks if Nathaniel would mind her filming their sessions for later review.  He agrees of course, and even helps her set up the camera. 

 

“I want for you to talk to Dr. Roy Cabarro,” Bee says when they’re settled.  “He’s a hypnotist who works with trauma patients, helping them deal with PTSD and other symptoms.”

 

“Neil won’t like it,” Nathaniel says, cautiously.  Bee sits up straighter.  “He ran out of here on you, right?”

 

“You remember that?”

 

Nathaniel shakes his head.  “It’s like a movie being played in my head,” he says.  Andrew wonders if Mir is catching him up on what he missed, and how that works.  “I’m also hearing – uh – voices.”

 

“Tell me about them,” Bee instructs. 

 

“It’s an older woman, mostly.  She says she’s the keeper, and that I messed up her system.”

 

Andrew wants to laugh, and swallows it.  Mir said Neil and Nathaniel trusted him.  Laughing during an ostensibly private therapy session would be uncalled for. 

 

“I see,” Bee says.  “Can I talk to the Keeper?” 

 

Nathaniel is silent for a long time.  “She can’t come out,” he says at last.  “I’ll answer for her.  She can hear you.  This is really weird,” he adds.  “I feel like I’m going crazy.  I’ve never heard voices before.”   Another pause.  “She says she kept us separate for our safety, but now that Nathan is dead, and so is Riko, it’s safe for us to start living our lives normally.” 

 

“Those are her exact words?” 

 

Nathaniel rubs his hands up and down his thighs, a tell Andrew is learning to catch.  He looks around quickly, and sits up straighter.  “My name is not Mir,” he tells Andrew.  “I don’t have a name.”

 

“Are you the Memory Interfacer?” asks Bee, scrawling notes down on her notepad.  “I don’t see why Mir won’t work for a name.”  She catches his expression and sighs.  “Or at least, something to call you while we’re doing this.  So you, Nathaniel, and the Keeper are aware that you’re a multiple.  The others – Neil, Wes, Abram, they don’t know?”

 

“No,” says Mir.  “Neil was created to play exy.  Abram is still a child, the core.  Wes is our defensive alter.”

 

Andrew does _not_ like the idea of Neil existing only to play some stupid sport, and then thinks about what drew the Foxes to him in the first place.  _He plays like he has nothing else.  Because he doesn’t.  But he does now.  Where does that leave him?_   _I am not in lo – in a relationship with_ all _of them._

 

Mir is continuing.  “Wes learned the lessons Lola forced on him, and I would feed them to the others as necessary.  Nothing and no one touches Abram.  Neil didn’t gain his name until Millport, and he finally separated from Nathaniel in the spring.”

 

When his paperwork was finalized, when Riko was dead, and when Andrew told him to stay.  It’s … oddly warming.  _I made Neil real._

 

“You said Abram is the core?”

 

“He sleeps,” Mir says instantly, and his tone shuts down the idea that Bee can get through to him. 

 

“Tell me about yourself,” she says instead of continuing with Abram.  It’s weird – Abram is Nathaniel and Neil’s middle name, and also an alter? – but Andrew is suddenly wondering how the rest of the team is going to take this news.  He wonders if they should tell them. 

 

“My function is to retain memories from all alters and relay them as necessary to the one up front,” Mir tells her.  “I am not supposed to be here.” 

 

Bee shifts in her seat.  “Here as in existing, or here as in up front?”

 

Mir gives her a flat look.  “Up front,” he clarifies calmly. 

 

Betsy scrawls some more notes.  “And by ‘up front,’ you mean in charge, right?”

 

“Correct.” 

 

“Thank you,” she tells him.  “You’ve been very helpful.”  She’s looking down and doesn’t see him rubbing his thighs, but Andrew can.  He’s switched again. 

 

“I have?”  He’s looking around, grounding himself.  Andrew is pretty sure it’s Nathaniel again.  He wants to see Neil – wants to explain what’s going on, wants to find out what Neil thinks of all this – and sighs.  Nathaniel twists around and grins at him.  “We’re gonna tell the others about this whole multiple thing tonight,” he says.  “So you probably don’t want to be around for that.” 

 

“Who’s going to tell who?” Bee asks, taking in the new expression.  “Nathaniel?”

 

“Yep,” he says.  “Me and the Keeper were talking while Mir was up front.  We’re getting used to this switching thing, but Neil isn’t gonna like it.  We’re pretty sure we can keep it from happening by accident once everyone knows, though.  Then what’s the next step?”

 

“I’d like to meet Wes first,” Bee says.  Nathaniel hunches over.

 

“The Keeper says that isn’t a good idea.” 

 

“Is he violent?”

 

“He can be?  I don’t know him.  The Keeper says –”  He flinches and cuts himself off.  In the next moment, he’s up out of the couch and pacing back and forth.  Andrew can’t tell if he switched, or who’s up front.  When his eyes meet Andrew’s, they’re nearly black.  It’s stunning, and a little disturbing. 

 

“Who am I speaking to?” Bee asks cautiously. 

 

“Wes.”  The voice is clipped, sharp, and has a hint of a British accent. 

 

* * *

 

 

Nathaniel feels crowded, like there’s a pressure on his brain.  His mouth moves, but he’s not the one speaking.  It’s not like being in the back seat, though, where he’s drifting and almost sleeping. He’s still up front – but there’s someone with him now. 

 

“Wes,” says an unfamiliar voice, using his mouth.  There’s panic and fear and the overwhelming feeling of being exposed fluttering against his thoughts, but they’re alien. 

 

_Why is this a bad idea?_

 

 _‘Wes can be a little unpredictable,_ ’ says the Keeper, a warm, maternal voice in his mind.  _‘With you both up front at the same time, you can keep him from doing anything stupid.’_

 

This feels like an awful lot of pressure.  _Are you sure?_

 

 _‘Just keep him from realizing Andrew has knives,’_ says the Keeper. 

 

How is he supposed to do _that?_ Completely at a loss, Nathaniel watches Wes talking to Bee.  The panic is receding as he realizes the woman is a psychiatrist, and is trying to help him.  He still doesn’t say anything now that his name is out between them, but Nathaniel can feel him calming down.  He feels like it should be weird – that he’s not alone in his mind the way he always thought he was – but instead, it’s something of a comfort.  They’re all here to make sure he’s safe.  He’s there to make sure everyone else is safe.  Working together is going to be much easier than flying solo. 

**Author's Note:**

> SO THIS ISN'T GONNA BE A ONE-SHOT. SORRY GUYS.


End file.
